To Sleep Perchance to Dream
by redlettergirl
Summary: "To die, to sleep no more." A man loses many things when he becomes a chevalier. Solomon learns this anew, through Karl.


Karl is, to say the least, a strange little brother. James never acted this way, and Solomon is sure he himself never behaved in such a manner in his younger days. Never quite so rebellious, belligerent...odd. Never once, as he recalls, did brother Amshel enter his office to find any of his little brothers curled, back turned, on the floor in front of his desk. The universe, however, seems unwilling to afford Solomon this same courtesy.

"Karl?" he says, eyebrow raised as he shuts the office door behind him. No answer comes, and the man does not move even an inch as Solomon approaches, clucking his tongue in understanding. "Did Diva upset you again?" he asks, resting a gentle hand on Karl's still shoulder.

He just barely manages to dodge the claws aimed at his head, leaning to the side and countering them with his own sword-arm. Karl, eyes burning and face twisted with rage, snarls and flings his other hand out, forcing Solomon aside. He is gone within the instant, the office door slamming unpleasantly in its frame—it elicits all of a startled gaze from Solomon before he moves to his desk and takes up his pen, wondering at the strangeness of his charge.

Karl is back the next day, laid before the desk and utterly unresponsive. Solomon lets him be, passing by with barely a glance and setting wordlessly to his work. It is not an unpleasant situation, really; his brother is quiet enough as to be non-existent, and does not at all hamper Solomon's productivity. Indeed, he might almost call the experience a pleasant one, if Karl did not stand upon evening's approach, take out an unprompted spell of rage on an innocent cup of pens, and storm from the room.

When Karl returns on the third day, Solomon begins to wonder if the man is only here because he can be nowhere else. Surely, brother Amshel would not tolerate this (whatever _this_ might be), and while Nathan probably wouldn't concern himself with it, James could only be expected to look down on such behavior. Clearly, Solomon's patience has become more a curse than a virtue, if this is his reward. Regardless, he follows through, passing by and gracing Karl with a smile the man can't see. Karl is slightly more distracting today, growling in irritation and restlessly turning over on occasion, but it is nothing overly difficult to ignore. Indeed, the man leaves with merely a yelp of utter frustration today, and Solomon cannot help but appreciate the lack of property damage.

Solomon begins to push his luck on the sixth day, tapping his pen and resting chin in palm, watching what he could see of his little brother over the edge of the desk. "If this is about Diva," he says, averting his eyes long enough to study the end of his pen, "you simply have to give it time, Karl. You know how particular she can be."

No answer. Not even a fidget. He presses on. "I have told you before how Diva cares for all of her chevaliers. It is an unfortunate reality that her thoughts are often elsewhere, but it is something you must accept. Diva is simply Diva. You must be patient, as we all are."

Karl twitches, or Solomon imagines that he does. Not enough to determine if this talk is having the necessary effect. "Karl, please," he goes on, setting his pen aside and folding his fingers together. "You must understand what I am trying to—"

"_Curse you, Solomon_!" Karl shrieks, his claws suddenly lodged deep into the top of Solomon's desk and ruining some fairly important paperwork. "Would you _be quiet_? I am trying to _sleep_!"

Solomon, while sure that he has never heard something quite so strange in all of his many years, says nothing, and focuses instead on moving out of the way of Karl's second strike.

A new desk is installed within the week, and though Solomon is still bitter over the amount of paperwork lost during Karl's dismantling of the previous one, the better man in him wins out. Once again, he makes no comment as he sits down and pulls his work toward him, Karl a blurry, motionless mass of blue and black in his peripheral vision.

He loses track of the days after that. Karl's visits becomes a regular occurrence soon enough, so routine as to be negligible. An unspoken agreement keeps the knowledge of it locked away from their brothers, and as the summer sun outside the windows fades into falling leaves and soft orange light, Karl remains, as much a constant in this scene as, perhaps, Solomon himself.

It is sometime near the approach of winter that Solomon discovers that things are not quite so constant. The room is in ruins when he enters, windows shattered, furniture overturned, walls shredded and work in tatters. In the midst of it all lies Karl, eyes wide and wet, breaths ragged as he stares unblinkingly at the ceiling. "Why?" he demands as Solomon shuts the door quietly behind him. "Why, Solomon? Why can't I go to her?"

"Karl. What have you done, now?"

"_Why, Solomon_," Karl screams like a dying thing. He moves to sit up and Solomon braces himself, but it quickly proves unnecessary when the man gracelessly collapses again. Poor thing. He must have been at this for quite some time, to be so exhausted. "Before, _before_...anything. I could have anything in my dreams. Anything at all. I could"—he barks out a laugh suddenly, so suddenly that Solomon's brows rise at the sound of it—"I could have Saya. _Saya_."

Then, laughter is tears again and Karl whips around to face Solomon, every bit the broken child. "Why, Solomon? _Why_? Why can't I—Saya!" His hands are at his hair, his face, his eyes, tearing and pained, and Solomon wonders if Karl is not crying that blood on his cheek. "_S__aya_!"

Solomon crosses the room in but a moment, covers his brother's mouth as the boy screams for her. Amshel cannot hear this, nor James or Nathan; it would create too many problems. However, he looks the other way as his palm is torn to tatters, and stays still long enough to let Karl strike out and drive those claws through his chest, just this once.

And he thinks, as Karl screams and dies again in his arms, that maybe his little brother is not so strange at all.


End file.
